Chapter Three
Echoes of the Girls Who Went Before
Ava woke before the dream finished.
That was how she knew it was getting worse.
Her eyes opened suddenly, breath sharp in her chest, heart beating too fast for a body that had not moved. The darkness of the sleeping shelter pressed close around her, familiar shapes barely visible in the low glow of dying embers.
Charlotte lay beside her, turned away, breathing slow and even. Their mother's old blanket was pulled halfway up Charlotte's back, one arm thrown carelessly over it like nothing in the world could reach her here.
Ava lay still.
The dream clung to her like cold mist.
She had been standing beneath the moon again. Not the moon in the sky the Moon Mother herself, tall and pale and endless. But this time, Ava hadn't been alone.
There had been girls.
Not spirits. Not ghosts.
Girls like her.
They stood at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in shadow. Some were older. Some younger. Their faces blurred as if Ava wasn't meant to see them clearly. But she felt them watching her. Waiting.
One of them laughed.
Soft. Almost playful.
Ava squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.
The shelter was quiet. Safe. Real.
She turned her head slightly and looked around. Her father and mother both in their wolf forms lay near the entrance, massive bodies curled protectively, breaths deep and steady. The sound usually comforted her.
Tonight, it didn't.
Sleep did not return.
It hovered just out of reach, teasing, while the dream replayed in fragments behind her eyes. The laughter. The shadows. The feeling that something was being asked of her, without words.
Outside, the forest began to stir.
Birds, tentative and unsure. The faintest hint of gray light pushing against the dark.
Almost morning.
Ava carefully slipped out from under the blanket and sat up. The ground beneath her palms was cool. She reached for her boots, hesitated, then left them behind. She didn't know why. Only that the quiet felt fragile.
She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside.
The air was cold enough to bite.
Mist clung low to the ground, curling around tree roots and stones like something alive. The forest smelled damp and clean, washed by night. Above, the sky was pale, caught between stars and sun.
Ava exhaled slowly.
Her breath fogged.
She took a few steps forward, then stopped.
She heard it again.
Laughter.
Not loud. Not close.
It sounded like it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Ava's heart skipped. "Hello?" she called softly.
No answer.
She turned in a slow circle. The clearing was empty. No lanterns lit. No elders awake. No wolves moving.
Then she saw movement.
Shadows slipped between the trees ahead, just at the edge of sight. Too smooth to be animals. Too light to be smoke.
Her necklace warmed.
Ava's fingers closed around it instinctively.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered, though her pulse said otherwise.
The shadows moved again retreating.
Not running.
Inviting.
Ava followed.
The forest seemed to stretch as she walked, paths narrowing where they had always been wide. Branches reached lower. Roots rose higher. Her bare feet sank into cool earth and moss, grounding her even as unease crawled up her spine.
She heard whispers now.
Not words she could understand. Just the shape of voices. Young voices. Familiar in a way she couldn't explain.
A memory stirred.
Stories the elders told in low voices.
About girls who had turned too early. Too violently. Too wrong.
Girls whose names were spoken once… then never again.
"Ava."
She stopped.
The voice came from behind her this time.
She spun around.
No one.
Only the mist shifting, parting briefly to reveal the impression of a figure then nothing.
Her chest tightened.
"Who are you?" she asked, louder now.
The laughter returned, softer. Sadder.
The shadows drifted forward again, slipping downhill toward the oldest part of the forest. Toward the heart of the tribe.
Ava followed until she smelled smoke.
Fresh smoke.
Voices.
She slowed, every instinct screaming at her to stop.
The shadows vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
Ahead, torchlight flickered through the trees.
Ava crouched behind a fallen log, breath shallow.
The elders stood gathered beneath the great tree.
Not all of them. Just a few.
Enough.
Their faces were drawn. Their voices low. Urgent.
"We should never have let it last this long," one said. "Every eclipse makes it worse."
"She is not like the others," another replied. "You said that yourself."
"Yes," a woman snapped. "And so were the others at first."
Ava's stomach dropped.
"She's dreaming already," the woman continued. "That alone should tell us"
"No," the chief said firmly. "We will not speak her fate aloud like a curse. Not yet."
Not yet.
Ava pressed her hand to her mouth.
"What about the girls before her?" the first elder asked quietly. "The ones who heard the voices?"
Silence.
Heavy. Guilty.
"Their paths were… incomplete," the chief said at last.
Incomplete.
Ava felt sick.
"And if she follows them?" the woman asked. "If they guide her again?"
The necklace burned now.
Ava bit back a gasp.
"We watch," the chief said. "We wait. And we pray she does not ask the wrong questions too soon."
Ava stepped back instinctively when A twig snapped behind her.
Ava flinched and stepped away from the tree.
The sound was small.
Too small to matter.
Yet it carried.
Every voice beneath the old tree fell silent.
The elders turned as one.
Torchlight spilled across the forest floor, and Ava found herself standing in it, half-hidden by mist, heart racing but posture still.
She did not run.
She had no reason to.
The chief's gaze settled on her first. Not sharp. Not angry. Just surprised.
"Ava," he said calmly. "You're awake early."
She swallowed. "I" She hesitated, then straightened her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep."
That was true.
The woman beside him tilted her head slightly. "And you wandered this far?"
Ava nodded. "I thought I heard something."
"What kind of something?" the chief asked gently.
She glanced at the trees behind her, half-expecting the shadows to move again. They did not.
"Voices," she said. "Laughter. I thought someone was walking here."
The elders exchanged a look.
Brief. Practiced.
Then the woman smiled.
Soft. Reassuring.
"The forest plays tricks near dawn," she said. "Especially when the mind is tired."
Another elder nodded. "You haven't been sleeping well these past nights."
Ava froze.
"I" Her brow creased. "How did you know?"
The chief stepped closer, resting his hands lightly on his staff. "Your sister mentioned you wake often," he said smoothly. "And we all noticed the shadows beneath your eyes yesterday."
That was also true.
Still, something inside her tightened.
"I've been dreaming," Ava admitted. "About the Moon Mother."
The woman's smile did not falter. But her eyes sharpened.
"That's natural," she said quickly. "Many girls dream before the change. Especially sensitive ones."
Sensitive.
The word settled over Ava like a blanket warm, heavy, suffocating.
"You imagined the shadows," the chief continued. "The mind looks for patterns when it's afraid."
Ava nodded slowly.
She wanted to believe him.
They had raised her. Protected her. Loved her when the world outside would have burned her alive.
If they said she was imagining things… then she must be.
"I'm sorry," Ava said quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't," the chief replied. "Go back now. Rest while you can."
While you can.
She turned and walked away.
She did not look back.
But as she left the edge of the clearing, the necklace at her throat warmed again slow, deliberate, unmistakable.
Not imagined.
Behind her, the elders watched until she disappeared into the trees.
Only then did the woman speak.
"She's hearing them," she said.
The chief closed his eyes.
"Yes," he murmured. "Just like the others did."
She found Charlotte near the riverbank later that morning.
The river curved through the forest like a silver ribbon, wide and slow-moving, its surface broken by smooth stones and low-hanging branches. Sunlight danced across the water, turning it bright and harmless-looking.
Charlotte sat on a flat rock with her boots off, bare feet dangling in the current. She wore a pale yellow dress today, the fabric hitched up slightly at the knees, her red hair braided loosely down her back. She looked relaxed. Unbothered.
"You're staring," Charlotte said without turning.
Ava sat beside her and hugged her knees. "You don't feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"That something's wrong."
Charlotte laughed softly. "You always feel that."
Ava frowned. "That's not fair."
Charlotte glanced at her now, eyes sharp but not unkind. "You're afraid of the curse," she said simply. "That doesn't mean the world is ending."
"I'm not afraid," Ava said, too quickly.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow.
Ava looked down at the water.
Their reflections stared back at them similar, but not the same.
Charlotte's face was sharper, her expression more confident. Ava's eyes always looked like they were searching for something, even when she was still.
Twins.
Same birth. Same blood.
Different weight carried.
"I heard the elders talking," Ava said quietly.
Charlotte's smile faded. "About what?"
"About me."
The river flowed on, indifferent.
Charlotte dipped her toes deeper into the water. "They always talk."
"Not like that."
Charlotte studied her now. "What did they say?"
Ava hesitated. Then shook her head. "Nothing. That's the problem."
Charlotte exhaled slowly. "Ava…"
"What if the curse isn't what they say it is?" Ava whispered. "What if they're hiding something?"
Charlotte stood, water dripping from her feet onto the stone. "Or what if you're looking for monsters because you're scared of becoming one?"
The words landed harder than Charlotte probably meant them to.
Ava didn't reply.
Charlotte softened. She reached out and squeezed Ava's shoulder. "Whatever happens," she said, "we face it together. Like always."
Ava nodded.
But the warmth from the necklace had not faded.
And somewhere deep in the forest, far beyond the river's curve, a wolf howled short, sharp, unfinished.
The sound cut off too suddenly.
Ava's heart twisted.
This time, no one pretended not to hear it.